


Surprise Me

by FreshMangoJuice



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 23:43:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshMangoJuice/pseuds/FreshMangoJuice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's back and no one's told John. Well okay Sherlock tried but John didn't notice. One shot set during The Empty Hearse explaining what Sherlock-dressed-as-a-waiter was up to in the restaurant before he burst back onto the scene with the champagne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surprise Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first bit of Sherlock fanfiction so any comments gratefully appreciated!

Well that hadn’t gone quite as planned. Had John grown even less observant in his absence? Perhaps his French waiter routine was just a little too convincing; sometimes he forgot just how easy ordinary people were to fool. At University, for fun, he used to play a game to see what events he could blag his way into. This game had been played alone of course; the introduction of another player would merely have lowered the standard of competition. Even so it hadn’t lasted long. On his second attempt he’d waltzed his way into a private soiree with a Saudi prince armed with nothing but a clipboard of blank paper and an air of arrogance. The game had quickly lost its appeal. John could therefore hardly be blamed for missing his allusions to his true identity however elegant their construction. No matter: he’d procure a bottle of champagne and return for Act Two. In fact, on reflection it had the potential to pan out even better.

Sherlock gracefully steered his way through the diners back to the entrance of the restaurant, ditching the now superfluous wine list as he went. Barman mixing drinks with his back turned – good. Three champagne bottles on display at the bar – very good. Maitre d’ nipping back for a word with the front desk before he left for the hospital – not so good.

Without breaking stride Sherlock pulled out his phone and swerved to the side. In an instant the Gallic waiter became merely a well-dressed patron of The Landmark taking a call. Versatile things tuxedos, he mused. Equally effective at lending distinction to friends and anonymity to waiters. Actually, that was quite a good line, he should use it on John.

He had positioned himself at the edge of a group of people gathering their things to leave: far enough away not to rouse their attentions but close enough for a casual observer to consider him one of their number. With the occasional murmured word into the phone at his ear he kept up the charade until the tiresome maitre d' finally took his leave. Although Sherlock was relatively confident the practically hysterical man would not notice the imposter amongst his staff it wouldn't do to be unmasked and thrown out, well at least not before he treated John to his spectacular return from the dead.

Finally the man was on his merry way to the hospital. Right. Enough waiting around. Sherlock marched up to the bar. The barman was no longer conveniently mixing drinks – not a problem.

“Look it's that famous footballer!”

The barman turned his head obediently obeying the tone of voice. Then his brain caught up and he turned back with a bewildered “What?”

“My mistake. Just a pot plant.”

And, with a lightning-flash of a grin, Sherlock was off again cradling the bottle he'd swiped.

As he made a beeline for John's table, the part of his brain that never stopped making observations noted the way John was leaning forwards in his chair; the hesitant way he was picking his words – always a sign of great emotion; the choice of this expensive restaurant; the champagne; the bulge of his inside pocket. But Sherlock saw only the friend he'd missed every day for the last two years.

A little more of a flourish this time perhaps? Oh this was going to be good.


End file.
